


A Strange Case Indeed, Mr. Stevenson

by AnonymouslyDead



Category: Gotham - Fandom
Genre: Edward Nygma - Freeform, Jim Gordon - Freeform, M/M, O, Oswald Covblepot, Riddler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-09 20:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymouslyDead/pseuds/AnonymouslyDead
Summary: Oswald is a wanted criminal who escapes an early death with a major wound only to wind up on the doorstep of the mysterious Mr. Nashton. How will he handle being in the care of this mysterious doctor and how will he react to Mr. Nashton’s little secret?





	1. Chapter 1

Oswald had long since fallen to a life of crime. Since he lived with his mother in their little old cottage at the edge of Gotham, Oswald made it a point to dig his nails into gangs working around Temperance movements, starting as the crew’s punching bag until he could worm his way higher into the group’s hierarchy. It quickly escalated from there. Soon, he was regularly looting the docks, getting into scrap after dangerous scrap, and finding himself dragged to the local jailhouse.

Anything not to be the strange child with the hooked nose and the awkward limp. The one people swore was more bird-like than man when his back was turned. He was going to be somebody, somebody that could stand tall and unafraid of what other people had to say. 

He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure, he’d had a few scrapes and injuries he couldn’t explain. But for the most part, he’d been riding high on the new reputation that he’d forged for himself. 

Then, his mother has been taken and slaughtered right before his eyes, all in a plot to further a some new aristocratic politician’s bid for control over the whole city. He had been devastated. His mother had been the only person in the whole town to actually love him, and now, she was gone.

It sent him spiraling, and the only light down this darkened road was Jim Gordon. Oswald had held in found enough regard already; Jim had been the only reason he’d never gotten much farther than the local jailhouse. Jim seemed to think there was some good left in him, that he could somehow be saved. 

But then, that politician, Theo Galavan, turned his eye on Jim. When Jim wouldn’t bend to his will, Theo put pressure on him, threatening to upend everything for him from the whole police force to his lovely little expecting wife. Oswald had never seen someone ditch their entire moral code so quickly. 

Oswald had felt a certain kinship with him then. Both of them were bonded in the fact that they both knew what needed to be done. So, they teamed up and hunted down Theo with all of the mercy the man had given his mother. Absolutely none. 

Oswald had never had so much fun watching the that overly confident smile twist into pain as he beat him over and over with a bat. That perfect smile became cracked and marred with slow, torturous bruises as he brought it down again and again. It only when Jim cock his gun that Oswald let up, allowing Jim to put Theo down like the dog he was. And in the moment, Oswald could’ve sworn he’d found something there; something between their shared dark sides that flared up when their heart’s desires were threatened just seemed to click. 

But, it turned out only Oswald felt so. Such a public figure turning up dead was bound to capture the attention of the police. An investigation was launched and when the evidence turned up, pointing at Jim? 

He hid behind his morally correct facade and passed the blame only to the next combined target, Oswald. 

He was tossed behind bars before he knew it with a court date hanging over his head. Soon, he’d be in the gallows, hanging for his crimes. Oswald would planned on going willingly. He had no regrets about what he’d done except that he’d put far too much trust in a man that never deserved it. 

But even then, plans change. A pair of his jailers decided that his execution was to come early, leading him handcuffed out onto the dark crooked cobblestone alley behind the police station. One held him by his shoulders as the other prepped his brace knuckles. He swung his fists again and again, slamming metal against his face until his chest screamed with every breath he took. Oswald let out a very graceless cry in pain which only seemed to egg them on. 

His assaulter seemed to bore of their set up, so he reared his arms back, ready to swing at his jaw. Oswald caught on quick from his experience in scuffles. He waited until the blow was coming before he threw his weight downward and threw his captor off balance. His assaulter’s blow hit his captor square in the face, sending him reeling to the ground. Oswald took the chance to run. 

He bolted down the alley into the street, his lungs burning like wildfire but fear forced him forward. Behind him, there was shouting and an familiar click that sounded far too close. 

There’s a jolt in his shoulder. At first, he doesn’t register what happened, but he felt a warm wet liquid soaked into that section of his shirt. His already ragged breath turned absolutely laborious in an instant. 

His brain moved on instinct, correcting his mistake by turning back to the alleyways. He allowed his feet to weave through a familiar path between buildings. It took what felt like a lifetime, but he was eventually spat out into the beginning of the forest outside Gotham. 

By then, his world was spinning. His skin was slick with cold sweat and blood sluggishly dripping down his back. Even so, he continued to run on unsteady feet like a wounded deer running from a hunter. He picked his way through the clusters of trees, nearly making his death tripping over the thick tree roots and bushes littering the ground. His vision started to blur, but every crunch of his footfalls on sticks and leaves sent a jolt of panic to propel him forward. 

Soon, the trees started to patter out. The uneven terrain smoothed out into that of a clearly well maintained lawn. Oswald blinked in confusion until he looked up. 

A huge wrought iron gate shot up into the night sky. Before it, a stylish gravel road wound up a short hill to a massive manor glaring down at him. It’s huge front windows cast with a ghostly yellow light. 

Oswald used the last of his strength to shove the gate open. It sent an unbearable explosion of pain blasting through his shoulder as the gate swung open with an eerie echoing creak. Oswald stumbled forward, but this time, he hit the ground hard. His mind grew fuzzy, the night’s shadows mingling with the dark spots dancing in before his eyes until it all went dark. 

*********************

Numb. He felt so numb staring into a dark void. Was he dead? But, the dead didn’t the warmth enveloping his lower legs and the sudden brush against his chest. 

Oswald’s eyelids felt as though they were weighted down, but he forced them to open. Colors blurred and then sharpened to a blinding degree. Oswald groaned in protest. 

“Oh dear. You’re not supposed to be awake yet.” A stranger’s voice echoed in his ear. Panic surged through Oswald. He bolted upward too quick, sending an excruciating wave of pain ripping through his numbness. He cried out, cringing into himself. 

He heard footsteps approach him and then a person was looming over them. They reached out one hand to placate them. Oswald latched onto it, digging his fingernails into the flesh with every once of panic in him. In an instant, his other hand shot out, grabbing something into his neck. It took a second to register the sensation of liquid being injected into him to realize what was happening. He fought even harder, trying to swat the stranger away but his movement quickly became more uncoordinated.

. The stranger gently pushed him back. Oswald tried to protest, but his body felt like lead. He sunk back into what felt like the softest mattress, catching a glimpse of messy brown hair and huge lenses glasses before he fell unconscious once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Someone said as Oswald stirred. His sleep ridden mind screamed at the unknown voice, sending him into a panic. he bolted upright only to regret it as a shock of pain hit him from his shoulder. Oswald cried out in surprise and grabbed shoulder, surprised to find a dense wrap of banadages wound neatly around his now bare chest.

“I wouldn’t recommend moving so soon. I only just finished your stitches this morning.” Gloved hands shot to push him down again, but Oswald swatted them away. He glared up at the man looming over him washed over in the glow of the candle he held. It didn’t seem to deter him, a crooked, shadowed smile unwavering across his face.“You, my good sir, are lucky to be alive. Congratulations.” 

“Who are you?” Oswald demanded. 

“Edward Nashton. Nice to meet you.” Edward smiled. He set the candlestick on a nearby nightstand and held out his hand. Oswald looked at it with distain. 

The name sounded a bit familiar to Oswald, but he couldn’t place the man to any of the gangs that would have a hit out for him. He didn’t look threatening either, a rather lithe man with an pair of large glasses sitting on his face, an obnoxiously green sweater coupled with brown leather gloves, and meticulously combed brown hair. Still, he knew that common men could easily turn out to be some of the most dangerous people in the city. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Edward shrugged. “Nothing in particular.” 

Oswald raised his eyebrows, a scoff of disbelief escaping him. “So, I’m supposed to believe that all this was from the goodness of your heart?” 

“Well, I’ll admit it’s nice to have company. To be honest, I don’t get many visitors much less a man bleeding to death at my doorstep.” 

Gee, he wondered why. Oswald wanted to snap, but he held his tongue. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m hardly good company.” Oswald said in a lighter tone but with a slight indication of his irritation. He was not about to entertain some strange man. 

He threw the thick blanket off his legs, thankful to find he was still in his pants. He clamored off of the admittedly soft bed to his feet.

“No. No. No.” Edward rushed to his side, grabbing his uninjured shoulder. “You shouldn’t be up. Please lay back down.” 

“While I am grateful for your help Mr. Nashton, no. I will not stay here another minute.” Oswald shrugged Edward off. He took a step towards the room’s door only for Oswald to halt. His bad leg locked up in protest. He nearly stumbled, leaning against the bed for support. The movement pulled at his shoulder, causing it to shoot out another excruciating wave of pain. He let out a quiet gasp in shock. 

“Told you.” Edward was beside him in a second. 

Oswald huffed. “Fine! Fine.” He shrugged off any more attempts of Edward’s to help, pulling himself back into bed. He sat on top of its bedding and glowered at a pleased looking Edward. 

“I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry to leave. The manor is pretty well hidden in forest. I doubt the GCPD will even find their way out here as incompetent as they are. Frankly, I’m surprised you made it as far as you did given your state.” Edward turned, looking over a surprisingly ornate dresser before snatching a ceramic mug off its knickknack cluttered top. “Here. You need to hydrate.” He held it out to Oswald. 

But, Oswald just stared at him questioningly. “How did you know I was running from the GCPD?” 

“Oh, right.” Edward threw his hands up before turning. He walked over to the mahogany desk on the far wall, overflowing with stacked newspapers. He pulled the top one off and then present it to Oswald. “I’ve been following you in the papers. You’re quite infamous, Mr. Penguin.” 

Oswald frowned, his jaw open and about to snap at the nickname. Then, he saw the actual paper. He had to focus in the dim light, but he could make out “Notorious Penguin Shot Dead.” The paper proclaimed in large block text with a rather unflattering illustration of himself below it that exaggerated his birdlike features. If that wasn’t bad enough, smaller text went on to detail the extent of his assumed crimes. It went on to explain an interview with Oswald’s so called killer, an officer named James Smith, who spun his account of the situation to cast him in a golden light. Putting Oswald down was hailed as a saintly act, one that’ll only serve for the betterment of Gotham. 

Oswald balled up the newspaper in a rage. The thin paper easily ripped and crackled under his hands. Edward rushed to take the paper from him. 

“Ok, enough of that.” 

“They’re dead. All of them.” Oswald snarled. “They’re all dead men!” 

Edward’s eyes seemed to glitter in interest at the declaration. “That’s something I actually wanted to talk to you about. Now that I have the chance.” When Oswald didn’t respond past a curious look, Edward went on. “Do you believe in fate?” 

“No?” Oswald frowned.

“Oh.” Edward seemed down for a second before he launched on. “I feel like meeting you can’t be a coincidence seeing that we’re both have similar...situations-“ 

Oswald scoffed yet again in disbelief. “You think we’re alike? Over a few newspaper stories?” 

“Well, it’s not just that. I worked with the GCPD awhile back-“ 

Oswald tensed up much to his shoulder’s protest. “You’re a cop?” 

“No, I just worked in the morgue.” Edward waved it off with a wave of his hand. “Point is I got to see some of your work up close, and I must say I am impressed.” 

Oswald blinked, surprised at how calm he was about it. “I don’t follow.” 

“Right. Right.” Edward brought his hand up to his jaw to drum his finger along it before he closed his hand into a fist. He brought it to his mouth, looking as if he was contemplating what to say. Oswald was about to comment on it when-“ 

“I’ve murdered people before.” Edward blurted out. He let out nervous laughter. “Wow, that feels good to admit.” 

Oswald’s eyes widened. 

“I’ve had some...changes happen over the years. I’ve been going down a darker path, and I thought you may be able to shed some light on it. Maybe, guide me in my journey.” 

Oswald blinked, waiting for a punchline. Yet, the man seemed as sincere as ever. 

“Listen, Edward.” Oswald sighed. “Do yourself a favor. You do not want to go down this road. Look where it landed me.” 

Edward frowned slightly. “I don’t have much of a choice now.” He flicked his hands upward as if he could explain through the gesture. “You see, I’ve-“ 

A loud chime silenced him followed by several similar chimes, twelve in total. Edward whipped around to look at the large, grandfather clock against the wall by Oswald’s head, his eyes widening in shock. 

“Oh dear.” Edward turned his head towards Oswald, a look of poorly hidden expansive clear across his face. “...I have to go.” Edward hurries towards the door. He stopped just in front of it and turned back towards him. “I’ll be back later...probably.” 

“Wait, what’s wrong?” But, Edward was already gone, leaving Oswald alone in the strange bedroom. 


	3. Chapter 3

The bedroom itself was hardly an interesting sight itself. The small room had a few curious bits strewn across its cluttered dresser and desk, but those were well out of Oswald’s reach. The only thing he could reach was the candle on the nightstand which hardly provided any entertainment.

Oswald groaned. He shuffled himself under the bed’s covers much to his shoulder’s protest. It let out an uncomfortable throb when he finally laid down, keeping a steady rhythm for several minutes. He tried to shut his eyes against it, but he found no relief. He waited what felt like forever to fall asleep again, to not feel anything, yet sleep would not take him. 

He finally gave up. He stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling a new low in how alone and helpless he was. Whenever he healed, he’d have to personally assure that John Williams, Jim Gordon, and anyone else who wrong him would feel like this but worse. 

It was a nice thought to ponder, letting ideas run through his head. He could hire a few strong men to beat up Williams. Fair is fair after all. As for Gordon, he would need something much more torturous... 

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep thinking until a slight creak of a board startled him. Oswald bolted up, ignoring the shock of pain to scan the room for intruders. 

“Good morning.” Edward said from the far corner by the door, nudging at him with a tall, murky brown bottle at him before taking a swig from its long neck. Oswald blinked before relaxing with an annoyed groan. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Oswald demanded. He looked over Edward before adding “And, what the hell are you wearing?” With a touch of distain. 

He gestured downward before throwing his hand up with a flourish as if presenting himself. His presumably once white dress shirt and brown leather gloves had a strange mix of dark stains, but his vest were immaculate. In fact, they seemed to catch the early yellow light filtering in from the window. It took a Oswald a second of looking at it to realize that small, green buttons adorning the garment were the cause. 

“I may change with time and place, but I’m never out of style. What am I?” 

Oswald blinked, taken back. “Are you asking me a riddle?” 

Edward responded by taking another drink. “Fashion. The answer is fashion. Beetle wing art to be more specific.” 

Oswald gave Edward a strange look which only prompted Edward to roll his eyes. “Guess you wouldn’t know about it.” 

Oswald was surprised at his bluntness but covered it up with a scoff. “And, I suppose the scuffed up vagrant look counts as style.” 

Edward huffed. Whether out of amusement or annoyance, Oswald couldn’t tell. Edward did, however, gesture his bottle towards him. 

“The more you drink, the less you remember.” Edward swished the contents of the bottle around. Oswald’s mind connected the dots. 

“Alcohol?” 

Edward nodded, looking just a tad excited. He swished his bottle again. “You want a drink or not?” 

“God, yes.” Oswald said before he could really think. His mouth already felt dry at the thought, his old habit screaming to be met. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a drink. 

So when Edward walked over and handed him the bottle, Oswald took a long drink, savoring the bitter liquid burning its way down his throat. 

“You know if I had thought about it, I would’ve put poison in that bottle.” Edward let a nasty smirk creep across his face. “Or, did I?” 

Oswald’s eyes widened before he spat out the alcohol flooding his mouth. He coughed and sputtered, trying to rid his mouth of it all. Edward burst laughing. 

Oswald growled. He grasped the bottle firm by the neck and brought it down on the nightstand’s corner. It’s shattered to pieces, leaving only a jagged, alcohol soaked neck. In a quick move, he grabbed at Edward’s shirt and yanked the man forward, shoving his new weapon to bite into the start of throat. 

Edward didn’t seem phased; in fact, he only seemed to seemed to thrive under the attention. He made no move to defend himself, keeping a strange, new air of quiet confidence. “Now. Now. Don’t be like that, Oswald.” He teased. 

Oswald shoved the broken bottle just a tad harder into his neck, resulting in a hiss from Edward. 

“What are you playing at?” Oswald demanded. 

“What are you playing at?” Edward directed back at him, giving him a catty smirk that revealed a tear in his lip. The more Oswald looked, he realized there were the start of bruising on his face. “A cat will pounce even when there’s no mouse if it’s bored enough.” 

Oswald gave him an annoyed look. “Are you kidding me?” He shoved Edward away and crossed his arms like a child. 

“Feisty. I like it.” 

“I’m not here to be your plaything.” Oswald snapped. 

“Of course not. Of course not.” Edward held up his hands. “But still, you may be able to help me with something.” Edward walked over to the bed and perched himself on its edge. “You know Gotham’s underbelly. If I wanted to get in touch with someone with a...peculiar set of skills, how might I go about that?” 

“Is this about the people you murdered, because there are people you could call on to dispose of it. It’s just a question if they can be trusted really.”

Edward looked confused, oddly enough. Then, he shook his head, a knowing smirk on his face. “No, I don’t need a body disposal. I’m talking more on the occultist side.” 

“What? A witch?” Oswald asked. Edward nodded. “I mean there’s so called witches on every street. Just last month, I heard the Pepper’s daughter was controlling plants like her arms-“ 

“No. No. No.” Edward cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m talking about actual witches, not any of those charlatans.” 

“Why would you want to know about witches?” Oswald asked.

“Don’t you know the saying curiosity killed the cat?” Edward asked back. 

“Guess we both won’t have our answer then.” 

“Guess we won’t.” Edward patted the bed, standing up once more. “Should’ve known you’d be useless.” 

“Hey!” But, Edward started walking for the door. 

*********************

Later on between unsuccessful attempts to go back to sleep, Edward returned to Oswald’s room, carrying a tray. 

He had changed yet again, Oswald noted. And, he struggled to keep a friendly smile on his face despite the strong midday light filtering in obviously aggravated the headache he must be feeling. 

His forced smile stretched a little tighter as he held up his tray. “Lunchtime.” He chirped before presenting a sandwich to Oswald. 

“Rough morning?” Oswald asked. 

“Yes, I feel like I got into a fight and lost.” Edward sighed, running a hand over a bruise on his face. Here in the midday lightning, Oswald could see the collection of cuts and bruises more prominent against his face.

“How did you get those?” Oswald asked out of curiosity. Or maybe, it was stave off dying from boredom. “They look like hell.” 

“I...um...” Edward stuttered. He clapped his hands together and pointed them at Oswald with a chuckle. “Funny story.” Edward looked away from Oswald. “I...There was an accident in my lab.” 

“I thought you were in forensics?” Oswald asked raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, that was before I was unfortunately fired. This is more of a side hobby.” Edward explained easier. As if he had finally found a truth to say. Edward quickly gestured to the tray. “Don’t worry about me though. You need your strength.” 

Oswald took it. He looked over the sandwich carefully and even sniffed it, remembering Edward’s last idea of a joke. Edward chuckled. 

“It’s not poisoned or anything.” Edward joked. Oswald sent him a glare bad enough that managed to fail his usual smile. Edward held up his hands as if he was innocent. 

“I’ll just- leave you to it then.” Edward all but absconded from the room. 

Good. If there was one thing that Oswald hated, it was liars especially ones that were too incompetent to even cover their tracks. Oswald tore a bite off of the sandwich, thinking. There was definitely something Edward was hiding. 

Just, what was it though? 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated lads!


End file.
